


Warcall

by doodlewritings



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alliance, Angst, Battle, Horde, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Warcraft Lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 23:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlewritings/pseuds/doodlewritings
Summary: The battle of Lordaen is over and Saurfang is dead. It is up to Zekhan to bring honor back to the Horde, but the ever impending threat of Sylvanas and her followers follow close behind.





	Warcall

“I saw him, right then and there-just when I thought that the human was gunna put me down fo'a good.” Hekazi said widening his three fingers in awe in front of his son, Zekhan. Zekhan gasped in amazement and he couldn't help but widen his smile when he was met with his father’s own. 

The cold night breeze blew harshly over his small tough of red hair and he blinked when the air dried up his eyes. The jungle trees provided small cover from the raging wind that came from the east and west sea, but he didn't mind the soft ambient breeze in the background. Vines swayed along the tips of the trees that overlooked their village and a small fire lit the front of the young troll’s face. His father leaned over the fire as he continued to tell his old war story. Sparks from the flames accompanied his storytelling along with the circling gnats that didn't seem to go away.

“I lifted up my shield just in time ta see that he come rushin’ in beside me.” Hekazi continued. His maroon cloth around his waist swayed when his feet shifted underneath him as he crouched in anticipation. “With his battle axe, he lifted it over his head.” Zekhan’s father mimicked the motion and the small troll followed his movements with amazement.

His mouth faltered for a moment when he saw his father’s towering hands grip onto an imaginary axe hovering over him. He blinked to make sure that the axe wasn’t real and his heart skipped a beat and waited for the finishing blow from something that wasn’t even there.

“And swung it down in front tof him!” Hekazi raised his voice and brought down his hands in a swinging motion. Zekhan covered his face with his hands and flinched from the action. When there was nothing to be said afterwards, Zekhan peeked from underneath his arms that were covering over his small tusks that protruded from his mouth. His father smiled widely. “Guess how many soldiers he took down with dat?” He grinned.

His father’s tusks made a small shadow over the flame and toward over his son's small frame. His tusks weren't that long like the others in their tribe, but they were recognizable for how long they extended upwards and outwards with scars from battles past. Zekhan giggled and roughly placed down his hands on the dirt below, pressing himself up to get closer to his father’s face.

“Three!” he exclaimed, his accent flowing off his tongue. His father’s mouth drew upwards and over his tusks as much as they could. His father's eyes widened in wonder and paused for ‘dramatic effect’. Once the pause was sufficient enough for him, he leaned in closer to his son like he was about to tell him a secret that no other member of the Horde could possess.

“Ten!” He whispered. 

“Yo’a lyin'!” Zekhan shouted.

“Would I ever lie ta ya?” Hekazi laughed. “I saw it with my own two eyes.” He pointed to his eye and drew down his bottom eyelid comedically which sent Zekhan to burst out in laughter. His son’s gleeful shouts soon got the best of him and eventually he too began to chuckle.

“What are you two up to?” Rekshari, Zekhan’s mother, called from inside their hut. She pulled back the curtains to the front entrance and laid a bowl of boar’s meat soup on the crook of her hip. She had a teal-blue appearance that glowed off her smooth skin unlike Hekazi’s dark blue tone that accompanied years of battle scars along his shoulders. Her dark red hair was pulled back into a messy bun and had some strands frame the sides of her face. She noticed Hekazi’s stance near the fire and knew exactly what he was up to, much like the times and times before where she has seen him tell stories to their son over the fire.

“You betta not be tellin’ him dose wa’a stories.” She reprimanded with annoyance under her words.

“He tells da best ones!” Zekhan enthusiastically spoke as he turned around to face his mother with a wide grin. Hekazi flinched slightly from the call his son said to his mate and he retreated back comfortably from hovering over the fire.

“Hekazi-“ She spoke tiredly.

“Don’t worry-I be sure ta keep it clean.” He spoke carelessly. 

“It’s not dat dat I’m worried about.” She argued. She looked at her mate intently and he stayed silent. Zekhan noticed the interaction and looked to his father for some sort of answer to his invisible question. His grin that was so large a second ago was soon fading away as he looked at how uncomfortable his father was. He wasn’t looking at him anymore and instead was evading his stare.

“I like da stories.” Zekhan meekly said, bringing his father’s attention back to him once more. He grimly smiled and leaned forward to rest his three-fingered hand on top of his son's head.

“I know ya do.” He softly spoke. There was a slight rasp to his voice that cut through the wind from the jungle in the background. His eyes drifted over to his mate standing at the foot of their hut and was met with a somber look in her eyes. She sighed deeply before calling out to her son. 

“Zekhan, come inside. You know how I don’t like ya keepin’ yer food cold.” She stated firmly. She gave one last glance towards her mate before disappearing back inside the hut with a wave of a curtain. A cold breeze blew from the north and shook the embers in the fire in front of them, bringing along a copper scent that filled Zekhan's nose with disgust. Sparks flickered and danced around the tip of the fire that sent his mind into a trance. 

“Why doesn't moda like ya tellin’ me stories?” Zekhan pressed. The flame to the small fire flickered and hissed when another breeze blew past-threating to extinguish the fire entirely. When his father looked at him there was no encouragement behind his eyes and there was some sort of fear that he found behind them that didn't sit well within his chest. But as soon as his father looked into his eyes long enough, the feeling and expression dissipated and he grinned. He laid his hand on his son’s shoulder and looked comedically from side-to-side, shaking his shoulders in a gentle motion.

“Maybe she’s afraid of who might hea’a.” He grinned. Zekhan gasped silently, careful not to alarm anyone around him and looked behind his father into the jungle brush. His ears perked, but only the sounds of cicadas and snapping of the dying fire in front of him was heard.

“Who’s gunna hea’a?” He whispered. His eyes latched onto a palm tree that rustled against the wind. 

“Da _raptas_!” His father raised his voice and jabbed his fingers into his son’s side, causing him to laugh and cower into himself to protect his stomach. “Or da snakes!” He tickled his son at the word ‘snakes’ which caused him to squirm on the floor in laughter. He rose from his position and scooped up his son in his arms, placing him on his shoulders.

“They don’t undastand us!” Zekhan giggled as he smacked his fingers on his father’s head and gripped onto his long ears to steer him towards their hut.

“Maybe dey can! Maybe dey got the bad voodoo in dem.” His father commented which caused him to giggle in response. His father’s feet crushed small rocks underneath the heel of his foot that matched with the sounds of leaves rustling from the jungle brush. Zekhan’s giggle faded and he turned his head towards the jungle behind as another wind rushed by him.

This time the fire had no more energy left to sustain itself and flickered out from the sudden breeze. His eyes darted around their camp in caution and tried to eliminate the approaching anxiety within his chest. Two glowing yellow eyes peered from behind the brush next to the large jungle tree that extended over their hut. Zekhan’s eyes never left the creature’s eyes and he opened his mouth in an effort to say something….but nothing came. His body bounced lightly from every step his father took and he ignored the stench of copper that seemed to fill his nose. He gripped onto his father’s ears tightly and exhaled a shaken breath.

“Fada.” He whispered. The glowing eyes widened before they squinted into a scowl. Another breeze blew by and a screech was heard from beyond the jungle. Drums echoed and thumped in the distance followed by a large horn that sounded through the trunks of the jungle trees. “Fada.” He whispered again. His father wasn’t listening and the yellow eyes seemed to multiply in numbers.

A sharp claw stepped out of the brush followed by another. The lion’s snarl drew upwards until it’s front teeth were shown. None of the other eyes followed this lion and stayed in the shadows of the brush, watching and waiting for…something.

“Fada.” Zekhan said, griping onto his father’s ears. He couldn’t speak properly and wondered why he could only muster out a whisper.

The lion widened it’s teeth and roared with a mouthful of spit that sprayed out between his teeth. It pierced his ears and silenced the wind that was comforting them not long ago. A cacophony of screeches and war sounds followed soon afterwards that broke his eardrums and sent him into shock.

"Fada!" Zekhan shouted this time and turned harshly around to get his father's attention from on top of his shoulders. However, when he turned around, he was met with a familiar castle that was broken and battered from a recent battle. Flags that wore the Horde's symbol pierced the ground and numbers of broken weapons littered the dirtied ground. He looked down at his hands and realized that he wasn't a young troll anymore. He breathed harshly when the sounds of war returned to his ears and whipped around to face the approaching lion but was interrupted by a hand that gripped onto his neck tightly. 

His eyes widened when Sylvanas' eyes darkened and her scowl deepened. His hands attempted to get out of her grasp, but she pressed on, shoving him into the wall behind him and sending crumbles of brick dust to fall. Purple smoke lifted off her shoulders and he felt the air between them diminish. 

"You. Are. _Nothing_." She spat with every word. Zekhan attempted to gasp a breath, but felt Sylvanas' grip tighten with every word. The purple smoke that cascaded down from her shoulders and face began to swarm his body and he panicked in result of it. Her eyes went dark and soon only red dots could be visible from where her eyes once were. She opened her mouth and a piercing scream erupted from her, scratching and tearing both his ears and lungs. 

Zekhan woke with a start from his bunker in a series of heavy breaths and large gasps. His breathing eventually slowed and realized that sweat was beginning to congregate on his forehead. He gripped the sides of his bunk with his three fingers to attempt to control his breathing from his nightmare. He hadn’t realized that there were wondering eyes on top of him from a nearby bed. Zekhan brushed his hands over his face to calm his breathing and focused on the weight of his tusks. Once his breathing finally slowed to a normal rhythm, his eyes gingerly caught onto the tauren staring at him from his beside, ignoring the other three bunks that had sleeping soldiers.

“You're going to wake the elders.” The tauren, Gastio, spoke softly with a cracked voice. He shifted in his bunk that was too small for his size and turned over to his side after a moments pause. His back had large bandages wrapped around his short fur as well as along his shoulder blade and right arm. He huffed a deep breath that exhaled dust out of his nostrils and waved against his gold nose-ring. 

“Sorry.” Zekhan whispered, "I'm sorry." He looked at the front archway of the Horde tent that they were in and tried to listen to any movement from outside. He huffed a long sigh before he carefully got out of his bed and walked to the entrance. His back hunched over as he walked and he gripped onto the railing that boarded the long drop down to the first floor landing in Orgrimmar. 

There were few orcs walking about and he could see the occasional goblin conversing with other members of the Horde. His eyes finally landed on the Warchief’s den and felt his hands dance with uncertainty. He blinked away sleep from his eyes and rubbed with his finger to eliminate the fog that seemed to slowly make its way from the edges of his vision. 

"You should be resting, should you not?" A deep voice spoke next to him which sent his shoulders to flinch at the sudden question. His head whipped to the side to face the unknown presence and his muscles gently resigned when he recognized Baine. 

"I-I'm sorry. Sorry, yes, I will." Baine, as tough and menacing he looked on the outside, always seemed to have a gentle presence next to any of the members of the Horde. He was gruff in battle and authoritative in orders, but never seised to do what was right in the Horde's core rules of honor. Zekhan avoided his gaze and felt regret standing next to him on top of Orgrimmar's gates. "I'm sorry, I will go back-"

"Don't apologize." He responded. Zekhan's fingers subconsciously gathered in front of his chest and gingerly twitched them out of nervous habit. He still avoided his gaze. Baine waited for the young troll to respond but was only met with silence as he watched Zekhan breathe gently through his mouth. 

"I..." Zekhan began but stopped himself form continuing his sentence. His fingers danced over one another and he looked to the side for some sort of reassurance to ease his sudden anxiety and nervousness. There were more orcs coming from the stairs, carrying boxes of war supplies and laying them next to goblins who tinkered with broken catapults. His eyes traveled to the stairs and waited silently for a familiar face that he knew was never going to come. 

"You did good out there." Baine interrupted his thoughts. "The battle of Lordaeron." He clarified which reeled Zekhan's attention back to him. There was no encouraging smile to look back to and the older tauren's tired eyes sunk into his fur. "From what I saw, you did...exactly as you were supposed to do." Zekhan's lips twitched into a shaken grin but diminished when memories began to invade his mind. Roars from Saurfang pierced his ears and the deafening screeches from Sylvanas' throat sent an uncomfortable chill down his spine. 

"I know what Saurfang told you to do." He spoke which snapped Zekhan out of his own head. For some reason that he couldn't understand, he felt fear. He knew Baine was an allied member of the Horde and Saurfang's friend but that didn't lessen the fear he had with him knowing something that could get him killed...if Sylvanas was still Warchief but...its different now and she isn't in control so why was he still scared?

"I'm glad he chose you." Baine softly spoke. There was a gentle hum to his voice that seemed to soften the clanks and metal workings from goblins in the background. Zekhan chuckled a breath and forced a smile that didn't stop Baine's curiosity. "And I've heard that others are grateful too." Laughter from goblins arose from near the staircase as they carried boxes and bins that were much too large for them to carry. One of them succumbed into the weight of the contents and dropped it on his foot which sent the other to double down in laughter. A passing orc slapped the underside of the goblin's head and grunted harshly. 

"At least someone is keeping this Horde together." Baine chuckled grimly. He felt his eyes on the front of his skull. 

"You," Zekhan spoke with intensity behind his accent, "have done so much for da Horde." He pressed. The sun was beginning to rise from the mountains of Razor Hill and began to cast a soft shadow against the metal fort. "So much more." He paused as he breathed from newfound exhaustion. "And I believe-I want ta believe that there is sometin' greata for us-for the Horde's futcha." He paused as he searched his eyes for some sort of answer. "The'a _has_ ta be." More clanks and hammers echoed down below at the main entrance as more members began to wake at the coming morning. 

Baine forced a grin and laid his hand against Zekhan's shoulder. His heavy eyes looked towards the rising sun and his smile dissipated when he began to walk towards the stairs that led down to the main entrance below. His tail waved in the wind and he never took a chance to look back at Zekhan who waited patiently for the tauren to smile at him again. He watched as the Chieftain disappeared down the steps and he was alone once more along with confusing thoughts that swarmed around his head. 

His eyes flinched and he barred his teeth as much as he could. His fingers gripped the railing in front of him and he couldn't get rid of this oncoming frustration. He had to hold onto hope. He had to encourage others to hold onto hope as well-that was his duty and Saurfang asked that of him. But fear and frustration towards..._her_ and something he couldn't pinpoint wrapped around his head. 

She was gone. She disappeared after she killed Saurfang and it still didn't sit well within his chest. From all the effort he tried with Saurfang to get rid of her, in the end he still felt her presence within the Horde. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed that there wasn't a lot of Zekhan story content on here so I'd thought I would contribute! Prepare for more of the good ol' Zappy Boi! :)


End file.
